“How…” I clear my throat and try again, but the words come out stammering anyway. “How did you… I mean, where did you…”
“Find you? I go to the Circles every morning before dawn to check on each one.”
Right. Of course he does. Kieran Cross probably hasn’t slept past five in the morning since he learned how to hold a blade.
“You were on the Crown,” he says, harder now, sitting up as well. “Lying on the volcanic rock in the freezing cold.”
“I found Oliver.” The words tumble out. “On the Crown. Well, I didn’t findhim.I found his heat signature burned into the rock, and there’s no trail leading away, no evidence of departure, just thisblast pattern,like a bomb went off, and I can’t… I don’t…”
“Evie,” Kieran cuts through my rambling. “Stop.”
“I need to report what I found.” My words are coming out faster now, more panicked. “If the faculty knows, they can investigate.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” he says, sharp enough to cut. “No one can know you were on the Crown.”
“Because I’ll be expelled. I know. But Oliver?—”
“Not because you’ll be expelled.” He runs a hand through his dark hair and takes a long, deep breath. “There are things aboutthe Crown that students aren’t allowed to know. Things that would cause problems.”
“What kind of problems? What don’t students know?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. I can practically see him weighing options, calculating risks.
He finally meets my eyes, and there’s resignation in his expression. “The Crown doesn’t just amplify magic while you’re standing on it,” he says slowly. “The amplification is permanent.”
I run the words through my brain, looking for alternate meanings, context clues, anything to make sense of them.
Permanent.
Definition: lasting or intended to last indefinitely.
As in: not temporary.
As in: forever.
“You’re saying that anyone who steps onto the Crown gets stronger. Forever.”
“Yes,” he says, and the word comes out flat, like he’s handing me a blade and waiting to see which direction I point it. “Your magic leveled up when you stepped on that rock, and it won’t go back down.”
I blink a few times, taking in the implications. Because if the Crown permanently amplifies magic, the competitive advantage would be enormous. Students would risk anything to access it. Faculty would exploit it. Families would fight over it. The entire structure of magical society is built on inherited ability, bloodline power, and natural talent, so if anyone could climb to the top of a volcano and get stronger...
“That’s why the Crown is forbidden,” I breathe. “It’s not because of the danger, but because it would destabilize the world as we know it.”
“Among other reasons.” He stands, moving to the window.
The sun is almost finished rising, pale pink light spilling across his room. A weapons rack hangs on one wall, each blade arranged by size and function, just like he instructed in his lecture on weapon maintenance. His desk holds only whetstones and a polishing cloth. There are no personal touches, no softness, and nothing to suggest anyone actually lives here… minus the worn violin case sitting in the corner.
Kieran Cross plays violin?
I bite my lip, filing that away for later analysis. Much later. When I’m not sitting in his bed trying not to stare at his perfectly sculpted arms while my entire life falls apart around me.
“The truth about the Crown is restricted to faculty,” he continues. “When any faculty member leaves the island permanently, their memories get rearranged. They remember that the Crown is dangerous and forbidden, but knowledge of the permanent amplification is erased.”
I frown. “But witches can’t compel witches.”
Kieran turns from the window, and the darkness in his expression cuts deeper than any blade on his weapons rack.
“Mostwitches can’t compel witches,” he says carefully. “Someone here can.”
